


Golden repair I

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [36]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Sar lets his guard down for a second, and look where that gets him, being their nerdy self, nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-09 00:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15255000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: Sar decides to play it safe. To do things by the book.He should have known better.





	Golden repair I

 

 

The most difficult part of the ritual is finding not only the time but also the privacy needed.

Since it has become obvious that the Alliance isn’t a stopgap, the base has been expanded but they’re still very much living in each other’s pockets. Interruption is all but guaranteed, especially if you start making waves in the Force.

If someone stumbles into his ceremony and Sar screws it up and summons a Sithspawn instead of repairing crockery, he really will have to immolate himself to get over the shame. To say nothing of what Hargrev would do to him.

So, in the end Sar decides to play it safe. He fills out the forms, in triplicate, including the one for ‘minor blood sacrifice and/or other spiritually hazardous activities’. Muscling himself into the schedule for the dedicated sites takes half an age and almost ends in a battle to the death. Sorcerers are territorial little bastards.  

But he manages. He even puts up a notice. More fool he.

 

“We should just give them the basics of Niman one more time. Obviously a few things got lost along the way. It can’t hurt, can it?”

Timmns, like the nerf-herder he is, has timed that helpful suggestion so it will assault Sar’s unfortunate ears when he has shovelled his mouth full of grub. He has to listen to the _whole_ of it or try to breathe his food. Considering the content, that’s a rather hard decision to make.

In the end avoiding asphyxiation wins out, if barely.

“Are you serious? They don’t need a _re-run_ they need a _kick in the_ -“

Before Sar can end that recommendation, someone clears their throat. It’s a sound so supremely polite it stops the bickering pair in their tracks.

“My Lord, Master Jedi. Is this seat taken?”

Seeing as the entire table is covered in lesson plans and other knickknacks they require to get through the day, in Sar’s opinion that should be a given. They are working here! It’s the commissary but their office is still undergoing repairs. They’re not here for _fun_. Or social interaction.

Only he is shackled to a friping goody-two-shoes, who has nothing better to do than postponing his well-deserved lecture by smiling at the intruder and saying, “It isn’t. Give me a moment. Lieutenant Drellik, wasn’t it?”

“Quite. My thanks.”

Timmns shovels their work to the side in blatant misuse of the Force. It scandalizes three Jedi Sar can see. He almost forgets his most recent grudge at the sight. Almost.

“I apologize for my rudeness but I thought I’d put my foot in the door, so to speak.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow, Lieutenant. What can we do for you, exactly?” Looks like his co-instructor has taken a liking to the majestic plural. Or _he better have_.

“It’s more a case of what I hope to be able to do, with your colleague’s permission of course. Lord Sar?”

The Sith unglues himself from the source of his devilish glee. Force. Can’t a man be allowed a moment’s peace to enjoy some stuck-up asshole’s misery?

“What?”

Drellik doesn’t bat an eye at the less than open welcome. “My Lord, if I may say so, my former master always spoke highly of you.”

 _Oh, great_. _Name dropping, is it?_ “They did? Someone I should know?”

A reserved smile plays over the lieutenant’s lips. “Perhaps. I’m sure Yare would wish for me to convey his regards.”

That… might catch Sar by surprise. A little. It’s not quite the sort of squeeze he expected at any rate.

“Would he.” _Spoke highly of me, did you, you sly little bastard?_ If it is true, Sar will consider himself flattered. Not every day that you are paid a second-hand compliment by Darth Nox. _Or meet someone he is willing to share his slave-name with._ “How is he doing?”

“Sadly I cannot say for sure.” Drellik seems sincere enough about the regret. “I should write more often but I get so caught up in my own studies. Last I heard he was dedicating himself to the protection of our rich heritage.”

That sounds like Nox, alright. Sar still remembers the first time his big hulk of a student had set foot into the Korriban library. Most would reserve that kind of awe for a temple of worship, or power, not knowledge. “He’s got to have his hands full.”

“Indeed. Too much was lost in recent years.”

The understatement of the century. “You can say that again.”

Sar’s heartfelt agreement seems to cheer the good lieutenant right up. “My Lord, from one scholar to another,” on the sidelines, where Timmns is watching the exchange as if he suspects his colleague has been replaced by a pod person, there's a choked sound the Sith elects to ignore. “I could not help but notice your planned excursion into the fields of the fine arts. Is it true you intend to hold a dorizi wa ritual and in electrum no less?”

Slowly, it begins to dawn on the overseer that he might be walking into a trap. He’s not sure what kind, yet, but unless he’s missing his mark he’ll find out soon.

With a healthy dose of suspicion Sar gives the answer that seals his fate. “Sure. What about it?”

 

 


End file.
